My Only Friend is a Talking Dog
by LM Simpson
Summary: AU. A down on his luck Shaggy encounters a dog while on a walk. A dog that it turns out talks. Scooby desperately wants to help Shaggy, but will he be successful or just wind up further screwing up the beatnik's life?


**Title: **My Only Friend is a Talking Dog, or: how Shaggy Rogers found friendship, love, and drugs when he needed them the most  
**Author: **LM Simpson (Kady the Red Panda)  
**Pairing(s): friendship!**Shaggy/Scooby, Shaggy/Velma, Fred/Daphne  
**Rating: **T at the moment  
**Warning(s): ** thoughts of suicide, crude humor, drug use, language  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Scooby Doo or any of its affiliated characters. **  
****Other tidbits: **I have no idea why this refuses to escape me. For some reason I can't stop thinking of the potential of Scooby being a talking dog in only Shaggy's mind and trying to help him get the girl in increasingly disastrous detail is just making me LOL so hard. Then again I have a weird mind. There will be a slight Wilfred influence here, albeit not exactly like the US version of the show so it's not necessarily a parody of it.

**Chapter One: Meet Shaggy**

1111

Shaggy looked down at the knot he just unsuccessfully tied over his shower curtain rod. He shook his head. This was certainly not going to stay when he put the noose over his neck. It was too damn weak, just like him after experiencing the war that was causing him to end his life like this. With his luck it would come undone the moment he jumped off the tub rim.

"Like, I can't even get this right!" Shaggy yelled, letting go and placing his hands over his face.

What a failure he was. It was his third try at a hanging noose knot. He already typewritten his suicide note-slash-will giving everything inside his crappy apartment that could be considered his away to his parents and Maggie and requesting no military crap at his funeral, with the addition of a sprinkling of "fuck you" to President Nixon. He already placed the uniform he wore off to Vietnam atop the hamper and under the suicide note, as an additional "fuck you" to everyone. But now, when he was at what he felt to be his finest hour, he couldn't tie a goddamned death knot when the situation called for it. What a failure indeed.

He rubbed his temples. Perhaps he was overanalyzing this too much. Maybe after some fresh air he could finally tie the right knot. He made sure to comb his hair (both atop his head on and the patch on his chin) and to adjust his green shirt and red bell bottoms before exiting his floor level apartment from the back door.

It was an unusually cool Spring night outside-clear, with no wind. His ears stopped up with pollen even now even though it was ten o'clock at night. A man from Shaggy's apartment building was walking his toy terrier down the opposite sidewalk. He waved as the two went by. Those were the only two other figures, person or animal, that he encountered during his walk.

He heard some bushes rustling while he trekked down the sidewalk towards the diner a couple blocks away from home. The thought of some mugger wanting to take the two dollar bill in his wallet made him shiver. He heard more rustling as he turned around and went back home. He shivered, again and again.

_Zoinks,_ he thought, _someone really wants to get me!_

He was in no condition to fight. Not a mugger, and certainly not anyone else. Vietnam made sure of that. He was like a declawed cat: defenseless and unable to fight. Thrust into a fight and he would have his ass handed to him once, twice, thrice. Walking fastened to a faster pace before evolving into outright running. All thoughts of hanging himself were completely gone now. All he wanted now was to save himself from a potential mugging.

He ran towards his front door. Without even thinking of turning back to see whoever was running behind him he frantically shoved the key in, twisted it open, and slammed the door behind him. He panted after slamming his body against the door.

He could sense scratching on the other side. Who-whatever followed him was trying to claw into the house. Then, he remembered something:

"Zoinks! Like, I forgot to get my key out of the lock!"

He clasped his hand over his mouth. Maybe the intruder didn't hear him. Maybe. That was the stupidest thing he ever did in his nineteen year old life, for sure. If he died tonight it was definitely his fault. Yes, certainly his fault. Nothing like leaving the way to your home open for some desperate dude to come in and kill you after taking your money.

Instead of a man twisting the knob or banging his body against the door, however, Shaggy heard something else: a dog whine. The scratching continued, as did the whining.

"What an idiot I am..." Shaggy muttered, lank against the door. "What a freaking idiot. Like, it's just a dog, Shaggs. What's wrong with you?"

He laughed once before getting up. He would have to make sure to get the key out the lock before closing the door. He wondered what breed it was, maybe someone's lost toy dog or a stray retriever. A golden would be great, even though it would push the limits as to what pets were allowed at his building.

He opened the door and gulped. Oh dear. This was certainly not going to work.

The lanky, brown and black Great Dane wagged his tail and panted. He then got up on his hind legs and slapped his large paws onto Shaggy's shoulders, licked his large pink tongue across his face.

"Uh, like that's nice and all dog, but..."

"Rank roo! Rit's rold rout rere!"

He opened his mouth to say one thing and then paused before saying instead, "...Did... did you just talk?"

The dog excitedly nodded his head. "Rep!"

Shaggy was unsure of how to react. Perhaps screaming would be most suitable. He drew in his breath and opened his mouth.


End file.
